


If You're Reading This

by sabertoothteddy



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: I think of sad things at work and write them down even though I shouldn't, M/M, Not A Fix-It, even kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabertoothteddy/pseuds/sabertoothteddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint finds out that, sometimes, the most important messages come from beyond the grave. Sometimes those messages mean absolutely everything and absolutely nothing at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You're Reading This

**Author's Note:**

> My first story on here, so don't bite too hard, please? Not a happy fic. Not even a little bit. It made me tear up when I thought about it which meant that it needed to be written. The idea and title come from the song by Tim McGraw. The email addresses are completely made up.

It took almost a week after Manhattan for him to get back to his personal computer. A week of questions and sideways glances and people shrinking away from him with mistrust. A week of there being a blank spot in his life where someone was missing. His thoughts would flash back to the holding cell whenever he turned his head, expecting Coulson to be there. To give him a bland look at a terrible joke. To tell him to eat or sleep or go to Medical. All the things Clint was bad about remembering to do because he’d gotten used to ignoring those physical cues when he hadn’t had the resources to answer them. His thoughts would turn back to Natasha giving him a sad look, showing emotions that she would only show around him or Coulson…… and saying ‘Coulson’s dead’. She had told him, after he had scrambled to the bathroom and heaved, his stomach empty with the realization that his hands were (what) with blood he could never forgive himself for, that it was to give him something to fight for. True, he needed something at that point, body and mind running on empty from the days without food or sleep, turned into the beautiful disaster the Tesseract and Loki had wanted him to become. He had needed something to fight for.   
  
Natasha had given it to him. He had hated her a little bit for it.  
  
Then it was all over, and he was left in some restaurant, foot propped up on her seat, trying to fill out a mission report form and choke down food at the same time, body rebelling. The people around the table, now without the unifying pull of combat, were strangers. He didn’t know them, not really. Knew of them, but didn’t know them. Coulson would have known them. Would have coached him through the distrust he had of new people, new personalities. Would have smoothed over the instinctive bristling he had at Captain Rogers’s presence. Would have chided him softly for the ugly looks he subtly threw Tony because Clint had been there for every frown and sigh that came out of Coulson at what the billionaire had done. At all the paperwork each act of cocky arrogance and sheer stupidity the genius had caused. Coulson appreciated subtlety and competence and understated lethality. Clint knew because he’d made a point in studying it and shaping himself to not grate on his handler’s nerves after so many years together.

None of that mattered anymore, of course.   
  
Now there was just questions and mistrust and awkwardness and the ghosts that hovered at the edges of his vision. That disappeared whenever he tried to actually focus on them. A week of exams and tests before he was let out to watch Loki be dragged back to Asgard, still wanting to put an arrow in the bastard’s eye and twist until he screamed. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to pay Loki back for everything that had been taken from him and others. They had separated after that, and Clint had only managed to put up with the usually calming aura of Natasha’s presence for a few hours before snapping at her and making her go away. He had opened his laptop in the frozen silence of his apartment, staring at the small, blinking notification of an email. It took more effort than he would ever admit to open it, staring as words scrolled across the screen in neat black and white lines. He had to rub at his eyes to get them to focus and for the words to make sense. Then he really wished he hadn’t.  
  
 _From: Phillip J. Coulson (pjcoulson@shield.net)_  
 _To: Clint F. Barton (cfbarton@shield.net)_  
 _Subject: If you’re reading this……_  
 _Well, if you’re reading this, my plan didn’t exactly go to plan. But when do they ever go to plan, especially when it involves you and me? Obviously I’m dead, otherwise this email wouldn’t have been sent out, so, the first thing I need to say is that I’m so sorry, Clint. So sorry for leaving you alone like you’ve always been left alone. Please, don’t run though. Don’t disappear. Trust that they’re not going to stab you in the back or leave you by the wayside. Trust. I know that’s hard for you, but I’ve never steered you wrong before, now have I? And Belgrade doesn’t count. You still have Natasha and the other Avengers, while they might not be your friends now, they could be if you will just let them. They are good people, even if Stark is Stark. Being around Rogers will be good for you, even if you hate officers. Just remember that he’s a fighter and not just brass. Stark will appeal to your sense of humor, which is a terrifying thought. Just give him time. There is a good person buried underneath all that snark, just like there was with you. Bruce…. I think he will help soothe you some, and you could always use another doctor to watch out for you._  
  
 _Well, that was the easy part. Number two. None of this is your fault, Clint. It’s not you pulling the trigger. Don’t blame yourself. Don’t kill yourself with guilt, because I know you will try to. Don’t you dare. You recover and you go on. This will not break you because you are stronger than this. You are stronger than Loki. Don’t you dare let him break you, Clinton Francis Barton. You live, and prove to him that humans will never kneel._  
  
 _Now comes the hard part. All the things that I should have told you before this happened. Clint, I know this is horrible of me, but I can’t go face Loki without knowing that even if I do die, you’ll know this in the end. I love you. I’m in love with you. Have been for years. I’m so sorry that I haven’t said it before, that I just stood by and didn’t do anything about it. I should have said something. Should have acted on it, but I was so scared of losing you and that was the last thing that I wanted to do. I don’t care that you don’t reciprocate. You just need to know that someone in this world loved you unconditionally, in a way your family never managed. You are worth loving, Clint Barton. Don’t you ever forget that, or I will come back and haunt you, so help me God. I loved you when you were broken and so flawed that no one else could see the diamond underneath it all. I loved you when all your wounds finally scarred over and you started to rebuild yourself from the ground up. I loved you when you finally started to trust again and your smiles started to become real. I have loved you from the start and I will keep loving you, no matter what, even now when you aren’t yourself._  
  
 _I’ve got to go now. You’ve blown a turbine and we’re pretty sure you’re headed to go get Loki out of the cage. If you’re getting this, I guess I stopped him somehow, but I died. It’s worth it if it leads to you getting saved though. Anything is worth you being safe, even if it means laying my own life down. You’re worth it. Love you. I wish I could have said it to your face. Love you. So much it hurts. I’m sorry. See you soon…. hopefully. Maybe this stupid email won’t even be necessary but I feel better knowing that you’ll know, no matter what._  
  
Clint stared at the words, watching them blur from the water in his eyes. His hand reached out, stroking along the words, shaking over them. His hand fell, fingers brushing along the touchpad. The mouse hovered over Delete for long moments before sliding to Archive. It stayed there even longer before sliding even farther over… to Reply. A soft click and Clint’s fingers shifted to the keyboard, typing his response.  
  
 _i love you too_

 


End file.
